Johnlock Oneshots
by LovelyFangirls
Summary: Every chapter is a Johnlock Oneshot. :) I just had a bunch of them and decided to conjoint them into one thing rather then clotting up fanfiction with my thousand word short stories... a lot are cute... a few are smutty and some are just melt the loins into butter type. Hope you enjoy. Rating changes per story so... read at your own risk.
1. I Have Skills Too!

"You know, I have skills as well Sherlock!" John whined from his side of the cab's backseat.

Sherlock grinned as he flipped through a case file in his hands. John was really cute sometimes. "Like blogging?" He teased.

As the two exited the cab, they strolled up to flat 221b. Once they'd reached the flat, Sherlock was spun around and off his feet, falling into the couch against the wall. "John?" Sherlock exclaimed as the doctor slid onto his lap, resting his hands against Sherlock's shoulders, leaving lingering kisses along his jaw.

When John finally pulled away, Sherlock was panting heavily, his pats growing tight against the riding pressure of his hardening erection. John smiled devilishly before attacking the detective's lips. Sherlock let his hands run up John's back in a hot frenzy, pushing up under his shirt, and feeling the warm skin they hid. After more passionate kisses, Sherlock let his hands venture downward, slipping under the band of his trousers.

John pulled his lips away long enough for Sherlock to let out a lewd moan, "John..."

Suddenly, the heat against his lap was gone, there was a breeze as John stood and headed for his own room. Sherlock sat there, curious as to what was going on, his erection wanting to follow the little man who always wore jumpers. "John?" Sherlock watched as John flashed him an evil grin.

John paused only for a moment to smile at his lover, "I told you I had skills."


	2. Love, Luck, and Accident

"Hey Sherlock, pass that book would you?"

"Which one?"

"The blue one!"

John scurried about the large library, shelving stray books and sorting some by numbers or colors. Sherlock tagged along behind, picking up a title he noticed that maybe could be entertaining then tossing it behind him once he realized it wasn't. None of these books were really worth his time. At least, not compared to John. Sherlock yawned as John climbed the wooden ladder attached to one of the bookcases. With an irritated tone, "I still don't see why you chose to pursue a librarian position."

"Because I need some cash Sherlock." John licked his thumb as he flipped through a few pages of a book, no doubt checking weather or not it was damaged.

"Well, why are you here during closing hours?"

John grunted, "I'm not. There just isn't anyone around today it seems."

Sherlock glanced around, seeing only one other figure in the large area. He'd assumed it was another librarian, but maybe it was a browser. Either way, there really wasn't anyone nearby. Sherlock looked up to see John completely turned around on the ladder. Not safe. Sherlock didn't say anything, he just kept a watchful eye on his blogger. "Sherlock can I have the red one this time?"

"Mmhn." Sherlock hummed in agreement.

When Sherlock held the book out to John, the little man started to loose his balance. As John started to fall, Sherlock darted forward, sending the book flying up high into the air. Who cares about the book? Sherlock had his arms supporting John. They were dangerously close. _Keep it together Sherlock. Keep it together. _Nope.

Sherlock tugged John a little closer, causing their lips to lock. It wasn't a deep kiss. It wasn't even that long. But there was more feeling in that one little kiss then a thousand words could describe. When Their eyes finally opened and they _sadly _departed, the odd red book came flying down. It landed right in John's hand.

What a silly thought. The title of the book was, 'A little bit of love, a little bit of luck, and a BIG accident.' Sherlock smirked upon reading it. He snatched the book from John's stilled hand and with a grin, "I'll be checking this out."


	3. Mood Ring

Sherlock never lets his emotions show. He would sometimes let a little smirk spread across his cheeks. John didn't usually mind, but when Sherlock had returned from the dead, John found himself wanting to know what Sherlock was feeling. It frustrated him that he was the only one who lost his cool around Sherlock.

"John!" Eric's voice rang brightly as he ran up to john, "Here you go. This is the one you wanted right?"

Eric handed John a small bag. When John opened the bag he smiled, "Yes thank you!"

The two exchanged a warm smile and parted ways. They'd remained friends even after the whole escapade and were doing well. John was glad that things weren't awkward between them.

John entered the flat, holding the bag close to his chest. "Sherlock?"

"What?" Sherlock didn't look up from his experiment.

"Can I see your hand for a second?"

Still not looking up, Sherlock held up his hand. John smiled and reached into the bag. With one hand, John took hold of Sherlock's then with the other; he slipped a blue ring onto Sherlock's ring finger.

This time Sherlock looked up. "What are you doing?"

"It's a mood ring!" John sounded excited.

John reached into the bag again, not letting go of his hand. He pulled out a little piece of paper and started to read with eagerness. "Let's see…"

"Here we go! Pink. Pink means you're happy." John smiled a bit.

"What's the point of this?"

"It's an experiment!" John gleefully replied. "You never show what you're feeling, so I thought this would help me understand a bit better."

"Why does it-"

Sherlock noticed he was still holding John's hand.

"Oh! It changed colors! Let's see…" John looked through the chart.

Sherlock pulled his hand away quickly, starting to walk away.

"Wait a second Sherlock! There's no brown here!"

"What do you mean?"

"The ring turned brown. There's no brown here…"

Sherlock stood behind John. Their heads were close to one another. John bit his lip.

"There's uh… no brown see?"

"Interesting." Sherlock lifted his hand and examined it.

"I'll have to ask Eric about this."

Sherlock got distracted, "Eric? Did you get this from Eric?"

"Yeah. He's been real nice and helped me get it. It's an American thing and I really wanted to try it."

Sherlock's face went a little dark. "Oh! The ring changed again! Black is…"

John looked at Sherlock's face. "Why are you stressed?"

"Make a deduction." Sherlock snapped.

John couldn't help but chuckling a little. "Jealous?"

"And if I was?" Sherlock leaned closer to John. Their faces were well within an inch of each other.

John gulped and tried to distract himself. He looked down at the ring again. "It- it's brown again!" Sherlock examined the ring then looked at the piece of paper again.

"I think they left one out. Either that or _Eric_ got a child's toy for you." Sherlock grinned.

"What do you mean?"

"Combine the colors for nervousness, romance, and happy. What do you get?"

"Well… brown."

"Very good."

"But that... I still don't see-"

"You do see you just don't observe." Sherlock slipped his hands under John's arms and rested then on his chest, pulling him back so that their bodies touched. "What would make you feel nervous, romantic, and happy in a situation like this?"

John gulped. "L-Lust?"

Sherlock grinned "Exactly."

Sherlock nibbled at John's neck and smiled when John let out a little whimper. He let his hands wander down and slip under John's shirt, pulling it up a bit.

"Sh-Sherlock?"

"What did you mean about Eric?"

Sherlock snapped.

With swift movements, Sherlock ran a hand down the length of John's legs, scooping under his knees; he supported John's back with his other hand and lifted. "Waahh!" John grabbed on to Sherlock's neck, scared of falling. Yes ladies and gentlemen, Sherlock was holding John like a princess.

"Sh-Sherlock! Put me down!"

"No." Sherlock started to cross the flat.

"N-No? Why not?"

"Because I'm angry. You only got this ring because I wouldn't show how I felt correct?"

"Y-yeah but-"

"Well this is me telling you how I feel."

With that, Sherlock pulled John in for a long kiss.


	4. Password Protected

Password Protected

John walked into the flat, his hands full of groceries from the store. Sherlock was sitting at the table opposite the door and near the windows. John noticed his laptop open in front of Sherlock.

Slightly angry, John spoke, "Sherlock?" He cocked his head slightly, "Is that my laptop?"

"Yes mine was in my bedroom."

"You couldn't just get up and grab it? IT'S PASSWORD PORTECTED!"

"Not really, it wasn't that hard to guess it."

"It's the fourth time I've changed it!"

"Then maybe you should stop changing it to obvious stupid passwords?"

John looked _very_ angry now. He snatched up his computer from Sherlock and went over to the sofa so that Sherlock couldn't see him changing it again.

John smiled grimly, "This time you will _**NOT**_ be able to crack it."

Sherlock laughed, "Really? You honestly think that _I _won't be able to crack it?"

John just kept smiling as he shut his laptop, placing it back on the table. Sherlock frowned a little bit, feeling a little uneasy. John patted him on the back, "Let's get to the case then?" John seemed very smug still and the more Sherlock frowned, John would smile.

Sherlock wiped the blood off his face, passing the damp cloth over to John so he could wipe his. The two men removed their stained shirts, grabbing the clean ones they'd picked up before. Sherlock notices the spare glance he was given by John as they changed. He decided to store it in the back of his brain, but left a semi-confused look on his face.

"John, want some tea?" Sherlock started for the kitchen.

"A-Ah yes. Yes thank you that would be nice."'

Sherlock looked at the laptop again, studying it. He then looked at John. He could see all the little details, what he'd had for breakfast, the recent family problems, and the fact he had a date tonight. A date… Her name? "What's her name?"

"What? Who?"

"Your date for tonight. What's her name?"

"Oh… Angela."

"Angela? You're lying."

"No. I'm not. "

"Yes. You are."

"Fine!" John yelled "Fine ok!? James."

"What?"

"I said James!"

"Ja-" Sherlock stopped short. "You're going out on a date with a man?"

"Well you know, since you ruin every date I've ever had I thought it might be nice to stick it to you for once! You're always nosing around and ruining all my chances! I'm getting tired of it Sherlock, I really am! You know, sometimes I even think you-" John paused.

Sherlock didn't say anything, he just looked at John.

"Well then I'm going out." John started to walk out the door, pausing halfway to look back at Sherlock, who said nothing. "Sorry if you're troubled."

Sherlock sat at the table, the laptop in front of him. He opened the screen and stared at the small box that he was supposed to type in. He typed different passwords; Angela, love men, homosexual, Watson, 221.

Sherlock took a moment.

_You know, sometimes I even think you-_

_Sorry if you're troubled._

Sherlock looked back at the laptop and began to type. When the computer opened to the desktop his heart skipped a beat. He sat back in the chair and covered his mouth with his hands. It wasn't long before Sherlock was running towards the door, trying to catch up to John.

It should have been simple for a consulting detective, it was Sherlock after all, and it was 'elementary'. The simple task of guessing John's password, it should have been obvious. The password was, I Love Sherlock.


	5. Kidnapped

John tiredly opened his eyes and attempted to rub them. He was stopped by a paining sensation in his wrists. He looked at them, in either top corners of his bed, no not his bed. John blinked as he looked around the room finally realizing he was far from Baker Street. He was in a fairly empty room, apart from the King sized bed he was lying on, and an old chair in the corner of the room. John's wrists were tied with harsh and prickly rope. He could see where the rotted wall boards had started to become a buffet to the termites and other pests that he could hear on occasion crawling around in the walls. No one was anywhere nearby. John felt scared and alone.

John laid his head back on the pillow. What was going on? Where was Sherlock?

"Hey, Doc!" The unsettling voice of one James Moriarty rang through John's ears. "Have a nice nap? Well I guess not. That tends to happen when you're drugged, but hey! Glad to see you again."

Moriarty sat down on the bed near john and raised his eyebrows in a sort of creepy Casanova kind of way, "how's Sherlock?"

"Good. Now tell me what the hell is going on?" John spat back.

"Well, see I decided the best way to get to Sherlock, would be his beloved pet." Moriarty looked a down at John's chest. "I was gonna just cut you up a little, but see, then I found some lovely little marks on you Johnny boy!"

John blushed a little then struggled with the ropes on his wrists angrily.

"Now now, calm down. I won't do anything like that to you…. yet anyway. I wonder what our dear little Sherlock would do if he found some new marks on his pet hmm?" Moriarty smiled devilishly.

John struggled harder and pulled back from Moriarty, who laid a hand on his upper chest and started tugging at his collar. He leaned over and started to suck at John's neck, leaving little red bruises as he moved along. John shut his eyes in angst and tried uselessly to move away. Moriarty drew back and smiled. "Now then, how about we get you all dressed up for Sherlock's arrival?"

John looked genuinely freaked as Moriarty pulled a pair of scissors out of his back pocket and drew them up to John's neck. "Relax Johnny boy… seriously."

Moriarty started to cut along John's collar and downward. He cut until the scissors reached the end of his shirt. All the while Moriarty's smile grew scarier and scarier. He pushed the rest to either side, fully exposing John, who moaned in displeasure. John's fly was then opened. Moriarty walked around to the end of the bed and looked down at his masterpiece. "Pretty convincing Johnny boy, although I'm getting kind of turned on by it."

There was the smile again.

John watched in horror as he climbed onto the bed, and positioned himself between his legs. "Hmmm nice arse ya got there." Moriarty lifted John's waist up to his own, clutching at his butt.

Trying to 'better position himself', Moriarty grinded a bit into John, causing a little whimper to come from his mouth. Moriarty grinned at that and leaned over, placing his hands on either side of John. Bent over towards his neck again, he whispered, "3… 2…"

The door slammed open with loud creaks. Dust flew into the air as it banged up against the old walls. Moriarty didn't move from his position as Sherlock entered. He just grinned.

John looked at Sherlock relieved, "Sherlock!"

Moriarty lifted his head in a snake-like fashion and whistled a dog call. Two huge men in black suits came in and took hold of Sherlock. John pathetically tried to kick Moriarty off. "Calm down Johnny boy! He's got some bite in him doesn't he Sherlock?"

Moriarty grinned, grinding into John again, and drawing another whimper. "I like bite."

Sherlock clenched his teeth and tried to rip free. John looked at him with pleading eyes, which only furthered his rage.

"Well he's a real catch isn't he Sherlock?" Moriarty's grin was so twisted now, it gave John goose bumps.

He leaned over and nibbled at the nape of John's neck. "Ahh~" he hit John's sweet spot.

Moriarty licked his lips with satisfaction then looked over at Sherlock.

"What do you want?"

"Hmm?"

"WHAT DO YOU WANT?" Sherlock was yelling now.

"Hee hee! You really like this guy that much? Well, he is kind of growing on me…" Moriarty looked back down at John. "Especially when he whimpers like _this_!" Moriarty took another grind and giggled when John replied with another whine. Sherlock stood still, simply glaring with hatred now.

"Boys, you can just tie Sherlock to that chair if you don't mind. Then you're free to go." The two men dragged Sherlock over to the old chair and tied his arms down to the arms of it. "Hmm… bring it over here a bit so he can see the show a little better!"

With that, the two men left the room, leaving the three of them alone.

"John, are you alright?" Sherlock didn't look away from Moriarty.

"I'm fine Sherlock… just a little… well, you know…"

"Ooh Sherlock I think he's far from alright." Moriarty sat back on his knees and took a pill from out of his back pocket. He placed it between his teeth, showing it off to Sherlock.

Sherlock looked at him questioningly. Moriarty turned back to John and leaned down. The kiss was forcing and John was losing breath. Moriarty pushed the pill down John's throat with his tongue, then let up so he could breathe. John coughed and Sherlock stirred.

"What do you want?!" Sherlock repeated.

"What do I want? Oh I just wanna see you squirm. Besides… he's starting to turn me on a bit. Don't tell me you're not at least a little hmm? Tell you what. I'll even let you go."

John breathed heavily and looked at Sherlock. "What?"

"I said, I'll let Sherlock go. You look like much more fun Johnny boy! Then again, Sherlock would know wouldn't he?" Moriarty grinned yet again. "Anyway you can go. I'm not quite finished with Doctor Watson yet though."

"Sh-Sherlock?" John's breathing had gotten heavier.

"Oh? Looks like that pill already took affect huh?"

"What did you give him?"

"Oh just a little drug… It'll make it feel good." Moriarty winked "He's already like this see?"

John's breaths were heavy and long, his eyes partially shut, his face was red and his toes had started to curl under. Sherlock was flushed.

"You gave him-"

"Yup! Should be fun now."

"You bastard!" Sherlock pushed himself over onto his knees, the chair still stuck to his back.

He started to push himself up on one knee as Moriarty started to climb off the end of the bed. When he was finally behind him, Sherlock used full force to push himself back, knocking Moriarty over, and breaking the old chair into a few pieces.

Moriarty moaned in pain and started to get back up. Sherlock jumped back again, knocking him down once more and breaking the final part of the chair, leaving the arms of it still attached to Sherlock. He dragged his arm over to untie himself. When he was finally loose, Sherlock stomped on Moriarty's face, breaking his nose in the process.

"John!" Sherlock rushed over to the bed and fumbled with the ropes.

John became limp and relaxed onto Sherlock. He felt hot and a little sick. "Sherlock… Are-are you ok? You didn't… hurt yourself or anything? Right?"

"No I'm fine."

"Good. I'm glad." John smiled weakly.

Sherlock lifted John out of the bed. "Can you walk?"

"My legs feel funny… the drug?" John's words were tired and worn out.

"I'll carry you."

"No don't I'm-"

Sherlock lifted John up, supporting him under his knees and behind his back. John's arms wrapped around his neck and let his head rest against Sherlock. "Heavy…"

"You're not heavy at all. I'm stronger then I look."

The rest was a blur to John. He remembered the two men in suits showing up on the other side of the door, he recalled faintly the street but then he just sort of faded. He didn't really regain much of a consciousness until they were in their own flat.

"You awake?" Sherlock came over and sat down on the bed by John, who had started rubbing his eyes.

"My head… I still feel strange Sherlock… I-"

Sherlock kissed John, caressing his face with his hand. John couldn't believe how good it felt. "It's the drug John. It creates an illusion in your human hormones that increases the liberation and nerve reaction to touch and sight. Basically, you're in heat." John wasn't really listening anymore, he reached up and drew Sherlock down for another kiss.

XXX

"John… There are flowers here for you."

"What?"

John opened the card placed within the bouquet of roses. He jumped slightly.

_Had a great time last night! ;) Hope to see you again._

_Hot n' Heavy, J Moriarty_

"Throw them away immediately!"


	6. How Sherlock Survived the Fall

"What do you need?"

"You."

Molly Hooper sat in the diver's seat of a conspicuous truck stationed just outside the front of St. Bart's Hospital. She took a heavy sigh before reaching over to grab the black duffle bag out of the passengers seat. Molly clutched the straps and looked out the window. Sherlock was still there. Talking with Moriarty. Molly watched as Sherlock's head came into view. A light buzzing pulsed through her leg. Molly read the text.

**It's time. Rooftop. St. Barts. Are you still outside? -SH**

Molly took a deep breath before replying.

**I'm here. Call John. -Molly**

After a little while longer, Molly sent another text. This one was to a young man. He should be somewhere nearby on his bike. If John was going to be close she'd need him on handy. Molly fought the urge to scream as she watched the man she loved fall from the roof. She didn't have time sit there in shock. With shaking hands she opened the truck door and hurried over to him. She checked the pulse of the unconscious Sherlock, he was still alive. No doubt she'd have to work on his injured legs since he'd have tried to aim there. His legs would have been easiest to aim, but it he'd used his arms to soften the fall, he'd be able to walk around normally. They wouldn't be too bad since Sherlock had taken along arm and leg pads as an extra precaution on Molly's behalf. It wasn't that Sherlock knew exactly where he was going to die.

But he'd had a good idea.

Molly worked quickly, tilting Sherlock's head back and pouring the tiny vile of blue liquid into his mouth and down his throat. She'd forgotten its name, but she remembered that it did. It works like a temporary poison. Your pulse stops and there's no breath. It was so clever. Sherlock was clever. Next she pulled out the quart of blood, well, _almost_ quart. Sherlock had taken example of one of his cases. The missing man who'd had Janus cars pour blood on his seat, but it was exactly a quart. If he'd repeated that then it would've been easy to see it was deliberate. She dumped the blood onto the ground, being sure to get a good amount of his hair soaked. Then she was off. Racing back to the car and shutting herself inside as people started to crowd.

She knew it was going to be hard on many people. Sherlock looked dead. Sherlock looked very dead. He was a genius. Jim Moriarty couldn't beat him! Never. Molly turned the keys and the truck fled the scene, she looked up into her mirror and watched John getting up from the hard ground. The biker worked like a charm. John hadn't had enough time to get there before she'd finished setting up for Sherlock's big finale. Another heavy breath. Sherlock was officially dead now, she would have to cry, pretend with everyone else. Sherlock was dead. Molly repeated the words in her head. She may not see him again after all. He'd said he would go into hiding.

Sherlock was dead, but he'd be back. Molly made sure to park around the corner before entering the hospital to declare him dead. After all, she did post mortems.


	7. Memories

Sometimes I sit at my desk in the middle of the night, and I try to write the rest of my story. I try to write to the best of my ability, but the words scramble on the page and I end up with writers block. It's hard to just sit here though. Sit here plagued with the memories. My wife knows something's wrong, but I don't like talking about it much, that's probably the reason we're separated. Everyone knows about Sherlock Holmes, the greatest detective in all of London. He could solve cases by noticing the tiniest of details that no one else would even think about. Could tell a pilot by his left thumb, even knew everything about my sister after just seeing me for about thirty seconds. Some people thought he was a miracle worker. Some people called him in-human, said it wasn't possible to do the things he did. I believed in him. I believed in him even when they didn't. I still do, even now.

I remember running down the street in the middle of the night to catch a murderer. I remember having to pull a gun out of his hands because he'd decided to paint a smile on the wall of the apartment and had been shooting at it. I remember lots of things, things like his experiments. One of them ended up surprising me with a human head in the fridge. Crazy bastard never did know suitable from not. Did you know he once stole an ash tray from Buckingham Palace? We giggled in the backseat of a cab over it for ages. He was my best friend.

When I say was, I do mean it in past tense. You see, he died over two years ago. If the world didn't know him already from his reputation, then they read about him in the papers. He was my best friend and I miss him all the time. Sometimes I spend hours just lying in bed and staring at the ceiling. Some have tried to pull me out, get me doing things again like before, but nothing's the same. It won't be the same as it was. Not ever. Rumors had started to leek out through the media. Headlines like 'SHERLOCK'S A FAKE' 'FAKE GENIUS' People were starting to doubt him, Moriarty had planted the seed in all their heads. Sherlock wasn't a fake. I thought maybe he'd pull through it. Prove that he wasn't, just like I believed. But something was off. Something changed that day on the roof of St. Barts...

I'm sorry, I- I need a minute. This is usually where my writers block kicks in, I just can't bring myself to continue. It wasn't his fault, I know that. Just one more miracle Sherlock, one more just for me. Don't... Don't be dead. Just for me, just stop it. Please.


End file.
